This piercing glare
by Anastasija Deutsch
Summary: His father was a priest, a clergyman, a man with sharp glare and swift to death. He is a patriarch, a father figure in his family. However, the most important, he is a vampire. Entirely cold creature with impossibly warm heart. Will she be able to see any difference between her future father-in-law and the man from her nightmares?


**A/N Hi there. I hope you enjoy the story.**

 **Disclaimer: AU, where Bella suspected the Cullens were vamps, but didn't tell Edward.**

 **I own nothing, as usual.**

 **Enjoy.**

* * *

 _Take me to church_

 _I'll worship like a dog_

 _at the shrine of your lies_

 _I'll tell you my sins_

 _so you can sharpen your knife_

 _Offer me my deathless death_

 _Good God, let me give you my life_

* * *

She is watching his every action attentively, and he is moving very slowly not to startle her. Step by step, each time shooting a fluent glance at her chocolate-brown eyes, full of caution and alarm. Each time she is suppressing an impulse to simply run away.

He is a predator, and she is his prey.

She knows, whereas they don't know she does. She is too naïve and innocent to guess, isn't she?

He thinks that her fast heartbeat is caused by the recent injury. However, she knows it isn't the case. She is merely affected by the cut, too used to it for all these years. For the same reason, he is not bothered by her scent. She doesn't know, though.

And here she is. In a big mansion, alone with an always bloodthirsty creature, jerking from every his gentle touch.

At the same time, he cannot accept her fear.

He is hardly scary for an ordinary human, definitely trustworthy as a specialist and beyond doubt caring for the fragile girl, who has become a part of his already big family.

Something odd is going on with her hand; she cannot figure out what exactly. No discomfort - pain medications do their thing. Only slight pressure when, she suspects, the needle penetrates the skin.

His too accurate and skilled moves could not form even for one decade of practice. His profound knowledge could not be got during some years of university. And, his eyes. Too wise and compassionate. Too piercing; they seem to know this life with all its adversities and injustices. They seem too old as for his young appearance. Too old soul stuck in an eternally young body.

She takes a quick look at her stitched forearm and suddenly becomes a little nauseous. No, it definitely wasn't worth it. On the other hand, hasn't she seen blood before?

She eyes him warily and he just smiles reassuringly, searching for a match. He has to burn it all to ashes not to risk her safety. He looks at her again with worry. The look on her face is too frightened, too knowing. He frowns, slightly tilting his head. Like a priest, silently telling he is ready to listen and help with whatever it is.

She smiles and thanks for everything, but he can see and feel, that something is wrong. He cannot figure it out again and it disquiets him. Like a parent, worried about his child.

She sees his questioning look and slightly darkened eyes, which are usually the lightest gold among the casa Cullen, and that are now ochre. Another wave of anxiety rises in her chest. This glance is too piecing, too deep, and keeps a whole lot of pretty much everything, and it scares the living daylights out of her.

Hot flames of fire are dancing in the ceramic bowl, destroying any hint of her tempting blood scent.

She apprehensively watches as he takes a seat in the armchair in front of her, clasping his hands together and slightly leaning forward, as he usually did. In his eyes – a silent question 'why?', although there is too much silence between them already.

"You are not human, are you?" she suddenly more likely states, than askes. He nods. He knew she would guess some day. Sooner or later – no matter. Carlisle Cullen has always considered Bella Swan to be much more perceptive than an ordinary girl her age.

She looks in his ochre eyes and sees everything he feels right now.

Understanding and compassion. For her.

Pity and regret. For the creature he is. For being a predator in her eyes.

Sadness. For making her feel like this. Like a pray.

"Bella," he calls out one more time, while she is staring at the carpet. He slowly reaches out and gently lifts her chin, making her look at him. She shivers from the coolness of his hands; it seems, he's been to the North Pole not an hour ago. He chooses every word accurately, to hit the point. "Bella, I know it is hard to accept, but you are safe here. My family and I... we will never hurt you."

He is speaking quietly, but audible enough for human ears, and every his word echoes in her mind. She wants to believe. She _has to._

"I know," she manages to say even more quietly, taking some deep breathes. He leans back, never stopping studying her reaction. She swallows a lump in her throat, shifting her gaze to his eyes again.

So kind and compassionate.

Definitely not the eyes of a hunter watching his victim.

And she somehow believes.

Not a predator.

Not a prey.

However, if it was the only reason...

* * *

She screams and wakes up again. Almost every night his eyes are chasing her. Scary black, sometimes crimson-red. And never gold. Rubbing her eyes, she tries to assure herself that is in no any danger. Now, when she knows his story, things became even worse. She can perfectly imagine his father. Priest and judge. Killer and prosecutor.

Sure, he got this glare from him.

Nobody knew about her bad dreams and still she had no need to tell anybody about it. No even Edward.

They are driving in the car silently. Soon, the entire family leaves for a hunting trip and she must be in the safe place during these two days.

"Bella, you look paler than usually. Please, talk to Carlisle."

She has no urge to argue at that point, so just agrees, whereas no little bit liking this idea. Overly protective, overly hovering Edward Cullen. It is better, however, to be angry than scared, so, she thinks, way to go.

But when she meets his gaze again, all her pretenses fall. Kind, warm, but still - the gaze from her nightmares. They are alone again.

"I will be in my study if you need anything," he tells her and goes upstairs so quickly, she even doesn't have time to blink.

And in some minutes of aimlessly walking through the house she is standing outside a door, gathering all courage she had.

Knock

Step

His eyes.

She takes an unnoticeable breath and sees him smiling a little, gesturing towards the armchair.

"Edward told me you are sleeping badly last time" he states. Right off the bat.

And she meets his eyes again. Concerned, worried, at the same time silently asking to confess.

"I'm having nightmares, actually," she says in a low voice, now staring outside the window and letting her mind wander. Then wants to add, to lie, that she doesn't remember them. However, she can't lie to this man. Never could.

He frowns slightly, watching her tense.

"Tell me what's going on, please, Bella. Maybe, I'll be able to help you." He asks softly, making her look at him for one more time.

"It's nothing, really." She tries to assure him. She seems to quite relaxed, whereas her mind is not. What's wrong with her? She still can't figure it out.

He watches her attentively. It was the first time they were able to talk since then. Not that they didn't want.

She stiffens and turns her head to meet his intent gaze. Too quickly.

"Sorry" she mumbles, suddenly feeling ashamed, and stares out of the window again. Awkward silence between them lasts no longer than a minute, but seems to last hours.

"I scare you, don't I?" he sighs. His deep and somehow sad voice breaks the silence in the room, the growing tension between them. There is no judgment there, never was. Just ascertaining the fact. He suspects she will deny it, whereas she knows he will not accept this answer. Furthermore, he is beyond controversy right. Moreover, not the first time. She is silent for a long moment. He does not need her answer, though. During centuries, you learn to puzzle out people, whether you want it or not. "And you don't trust me."

"Sorry," she sais again and God-knows what she is sorry for. "I swear I don't..."

She doesn't know what to say next. He has always been an authoritative figure, somebody people usually obeyed and respected. Somebody, who was a leader, a judge, a prosecutor. Like his father.

At the same time his head is full of the same memories. Hardly any of them are peasant, though. He never wanted to be feared. He was known as the son of inquisitor, of course. It was unpreventable.

"A vampire." she suddenly says. "I see a vampire in my dreams. A thirsty, human drinking vampire. And a lot of crosses actually."

And she feels his piercing glance again.

This glance of his ochre eyes.

Eyes of a patriarch.

Eyes of a father.

* * *

 **A/N: Hi, guys, long time no see. I hope you like thin re-written story. I hope to see you soon with that amazing new story I'm currently writing.**


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